


A Long Way From Home

by Bribbleisfreeble



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Also I had no Connor either, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Deh - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Good luck slushing through my mental instability, I promise that it gets better after the first chapter, I'm Evan, I'm sorry you have to read this basically autobiographical fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Protective Connor, Real bad shit, Sad Connor, Sad Evan, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Some minor Zoe/Alana later on, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, That one was written on my phone and it's short short short, Tree Bros, Treebros, dear evan hansen - Freeform, except I'm not Connor, maybe eventual sex? idk man., me projecting my own issues into a fic, mental health, running out of tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13184886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bribbleisfreeble/pseuds/Bribbleisfreeble
Summary: When Connor attempts suicide and Evan admits himself for his own suicidal thoughts, they end in the same mental health facility. After Connor defends Evan, they create a tight bond and spend nearly all their time together. Will their friendship last when they both get discharged? What will happen if they start having feelings for one another, once released?





	1. Involuntary Admission

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I've already posted these first two chapters on Fanfiction.net, but this site seems like it censors a lot less and is more active. Please know that this first chapter was written on my phone, so it's a little bit short. I will try and update as much as possible, especially if some of you seem to like it. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

_Look, I know you're at work, but I did something bad. If you could call me, I'd really appreciate it. CM_

The text that was speeding to his mother's phone let out a little chirp as it parted ways. That was the only sound in the house, save for Zoe's kitten, Sunny. She was running up and down the stairs in a mad frenzy that his sister referred to as "the zoomies." She insisted the same thing happened to dogs, too.

Connor slid under the covers of his bed, letting out a stupid little whine at the pull the movement had made on his arm. He had cut up the vein and blood was beginning to crawl out of him. It was cathartic and also completely exhausting. He curled up under the comforter, holding his arm to his chest.

The boy had perhaps never been this pale before, not that he could remember. Connor always had been paler than his classmates, yes, but never this bad. It was dumb, especially since this was what he had wanted, but fear blossomed in his belly. Even though the cut was not as deep as he had intended, he was still going to die if he didn't stop this. He grabbed his comforter and wrapped it around his arm as a makeshift bandage. Once this was done, he picked up his phone again and dialed an ambulance. The blood was already soaking through the blanket.

Something in Connor was screaming at him to stop: to not exist was all he'd ever wanted and this was a way to make that happen. Still, yet another voice was telling him to keep himself alive any way he could. So, that's what he did. He began to listen to the second voice, the one urging him to survive, for instructions.

Picking up the blanket, he wrapped it even tighter around his arm and headed downstairs. There, he waited for the ambulance to arrive. It took Connor a long, long moment to realize who the second voice was: it was the lady on the other side of the 911 call. He wasn't sure if he was doing everything she was asking him to, though. It was hard to concentrate; things were getting blurry and he allowed himself the luxury of lying down. Despite being aware of the lady firmly telling him not to, he shut his eyes and drifted to sleep easier than he had in months.

* * *

When he woke up, Connor was in an all-white room. His mother was asleep in a chair next to him but otherwise, they were alone. His arm was bandaged better than he could have ever managed.

A few minutes passed like this: Connor curled up in bed, the too-white walls and beeping machines consuming him. He felt sick and a little blurry.

Then, his mom awoke. Connor heard her give a small sob, and he reluctantly turned to look at her. "Oh, Connor!" She cried. Her face was red, puffy, and tearstreaked. "I-I have to tell them that you're awake. They want to move you to the psych ER as soon as possible. Oh, baby..."

Connor felt his stomach drop at the words  _psych ER._  He had seen what those were like in television and movies and in books. What was that one book that just ended with the woman putting herself back into the hospital because the mental health care system sucked? Oh, right. It was  _I Never Promised You a Rose Garden._ He shuddered at the idea of being stuck in a place like that and his stomach lurched again; this time, he turned and vomited off the side of his bed. His mother ran for a nurse.

What a great way to preface this new part of his life.


	2. Voluntary Admission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I know this was updated fairly quickly after the first chapter, but that was because these were already written. I'm hoping that the third will be put up by the end of the evening, but who knows, really. Enjoy!

Evan was certain that this was the worst day of his life. He had just been admitted to the psych ER, and he didn't know what to do with himself. The nurses let him sit in a heavy plastic chair as they got a hospital gown and pair of scrub bottoms for him to wear. He spent those moments crying uncontrollably and rocking back and forth.

"Oh, c'mon, sweetie. What's wrong?" A kind nurse with a red bob cut asked. She stooped down to speak with him face-to-face.

Evan was unable to do anything but sob harder, making various choking sounds.

The nurse clucked, gently handing him the clothes he'd been waiting for. "Just a bad day, huh? Well, come on. Let's get you to the bathroom and into these. They're really comfy, I promise."

Evan didn't know if he believed that, but he didn't argue as he was gently ushered into the bathroom to change. It was lit only by a fluorescent light overhead. Everything was washed out and possessed a cream color that he was almost certain had started out blindingly white. The tile was old and cracked and there was no handle that he could see to flush the toilet. Maybe it had a motion sensor? The nurses would not let him shut the door all the way, so he was stuck with it cracked about half a foot. He didn't entirely feel comfortable with that, but he figured that he didn't have much of a choice.

When he came out, a tall black nurse with braids smiled at Evan. He was still crying a little bit, but it had slowed. She took his old clothes and shoes and put them into a bag before grabbing something out a box. "Here, honey," she murmured, gently wrapping a warmed blanket around his shoulders. "There, doesn't that feel good? Are you hungry? Do you need anything? We can get you a sandwich."

It was past two o'clock, and Evan hadn't eaten a thing yet today. Regardless, he shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Do you want to watch TV or maybe go lie down on a bed?" The nurse bit her lip.

"I would like to go lay down, please," Evan mumbled.

When the nurse turned to show him his bed, he stumbled after her almost numbly. His body felt heavy and he began to cry again. When Evan had climbed into the bed, he pulled his knees to his chest and sniffled loudly. The curtain was gently pulled shut around him, and he pressed his face into the pillow. When he realized that he had not hugged his mother goodbye before being led back to this ward, he began to hyperventilate. This was bad.

Evan wasn't sure how much time had passed, but after what felt like a few decades, the nurse with the red bob cut came over to him.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm here to take some blood work and get some vitals, okay? Can you sit up for me?"

Evan forced himself into a sitting position, struggling to calm his sobbing. He'd been trying to teach himself the alphabet backward to calm himself down, but it wasn't working. He hadn't learned anything important, just that he didn't know something that preschoolers knew as well as he thought he did.

"Can... can I have a Tylenol, please?" The blond asked, feeling very small. His head had been pounding for a good fifteen minutes - although that was only an estimate. He wasn't sure how time worked here yet.

"Sure, darling. Do you want me to get you something to help you calm down, too?" The nurse asked. Her name badge read Darleen.

Evan just nodded, pushing his face into the papery hospital pillow as she moved to take his blood. When she couldn't get anything out of his arm, she frowned. "You sure are dehydrated! I'll get you some water after this and I want you to drink as much as you can manage. For now, I'm going to have to get that blood from your hand."

He felt her turning his palm over so that it was facing downward before sticking him. A couple painstaking minutes later, she pulled it out and said, "All done! I got as much as I could."

Evan turned his head to look her over, and then to inspect his newly bandaged hand. He decided he'd have to pull it off and put it into the paper sacks they used as trash cans later. He figured they did it because it was harder to kill yourself with a paper bag than a plastic one; the most you'd get was a papercut around your neck.

The nurse clicked on her wheeled computer for a few moments and then scurried away to go and get something from the main office. The main office was a square shape that had huge glass windows on three different sides. This way, they could go and see what was going on in all the areas of the ward.

A moment later, the nurse returned to Evan's bedside with a big, lidded mug full of ice water. It had a bendy straw at the top. She also offered him three pills: two of them were pain relievers, and he figured that one was some sort of sedative. He took all three of them with a big gulp of water and sunk back onto the bed.

After what was perhaps half an hour, Evan felt a lot more in control of himself. He didn't feel the urge to cry hysterically and his breathing had become slow and even. He was even able to go backward from Z to A without messing up too much. Therefore, he decided that it was time to reward himself with TV. At least it might make the time he spent in here less excruciatingly long.

Pushing himself up, Evan wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and made his way three beds over into a large alcove. He didn't know what else to call it; to say it was a room wasn't right because it had only three walls, but somehow alcove made it seem more charming than it was. Shaking his head, he made his way to a line of ugly brown leather recliners. Choosing one under the number 3, he pulled his blanket up to his chin and stared at the movement and colors on the television. It appeared to be some sort of court show, but he didn't move to change it to anything else. He didn't care what he was watching, as long as it distracted him from where he was.

After a couple of episodes, Evan noticed a tall boy with long dark hair. He also had a blanket around his shoulders and was heading over to the telephone. Instead of the hideous white hospital gown that was flecked with green and had an open back, he had on blue scrubs like a nurse might have. Still, he was most definitely a patient-no nurse would walk around with a blanket on their shoulders like that. Evan wondered vaguely - and a little jealously - why he got different clothes.

After long-hair-guy made a phone call, he shuffled over and sat silently in the recliner labeled "1." He and Evan sat in silence like this for a couple of hours, staring at the stupid show and not making eye contact.


	3. Larry the Cable Guy's Evil Twin Enters Stage Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah ha! I promised the third chapter by tonight and here it is! I tried to make Connor use humor to kind of attempt to mask his anger or make him seem like he was alright. We see him use dialogue like this in the musical when Cynthia says, "I will not have you going to school high, Connor!" And he so cunningly replies, "Thanks, mom! So I won't go!" However, I might not be the best at humor, so go a little easy on me there.   
> Anyway, I'll try to have the next chapter up by Monday or Tuesday. I'm going to try and write consistently on this so it doesn't go dead (fingers crossed). However, I do have college starting back up soon as well as work, so again go a little easy on me!   
> Anyway, I'll stop babbling so you can get to the story! Enjoy!

Connor rubbed his head. The fluorescent lights were giving him a headache.

It was dinner time, and before him sat the hospital's version of some sort of chicken in a marinade. Connor didn't feel like eating under normal circumstances, but this was even worse; the food was disgusting and he could only make himself stomach the green beans and little cups of apple juice. Then, he let himself get up and throw his entire styrofoam tray away, making a face.

The sandy-haired boy two seats away looked he was rather worse for wear, too. He was eating almost automatically; there was no other way that he could be tasting any of this crap and not be gagging. His eyes kind of looked tired and sad and very far away. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked cold as hell in that thin gown.

Connor didn't want to stare too long so he turned back to the television. Some trash sitcom was playing and irritation flicked from his chest into his throat. He couldn't stand that fake laughter; what they said wasn't even that fucking funny! He gripped the arms of his recliner hard, trying to keep his anger in check. While he definitely wanted his own room - as opposed to one of the beds lined up on the walls like in a regular ER - he was afraid that they might lock him in one if he got too upset.

"Mr. Murphy?"

A voice behind the young man made him jump. He'd been so focused on how much he hated the laugh track that Connor hadn't even noticed a wrinkly-faced old doctor come up behind him. His name, according to the hospital ID that was hanging from his pocket, was Dr. Obermeyer. He had a mountain of white hair and a black mole on his nose. The good doc also looked like he needed a shave and that he had one eyebrow instead of two. With some personal grooming and a touch of concealer, he could easily make an excellent Colonel Sanders look alike.  _He could be making a hell of a lot more money doing that than working with people who are either here on suicide watch or because of drugs_ , thought Connor.  _Hell, he could even be in those commercials!_

At least twelve KFC commercials had been on so far in the four hours that he and robot Sandy over there had been watching TV. Maybe he wasn't a robot, though, because the doctor had gotten sandy-haired sad-face's attention.

"Mr. Murphy."

Dr. Obermeyer's voice was not nearly as irritated as his dad's often was, but it was clear that he wasn't happy about not being acknowledged. That would have driven his father up a wall, too.

"Ah, don't call me Mr. Murphy. Mr. Murphy's my dad. I like you, so you can just call me Connor," the long-haired boy joked. The doctor was far from amused but Connor heard a small laugh from not-so-robot-boy.

" _Mr. Murphy_ ," sighed Dr. Obermeyer, looking like he wished he had taken that Colonel Sanders impressionist job all those years ago. He still refused to say his patient's first name. "I'm going to assume that this behavior is deflecting."

"No," Connor said, just short of being smug. "This behavior is me being mentally sound. Hear how cheerful I am? I can go home now, honest!"

He wasn't even sure if he was arguing his case or just trying to piss this guy off. In fact, he honestly had no idea what he was doing in general; he hadn't exactly expected to still be alive, honestly.

Dr. Obermeyer gave Connor a hard look before proceeding with what he intended to say in the first place. "Mr. Murphy," he repeated for what felt like the fifteenth time, "I need to check and rebandage your arm. Will you come with me?"

Connor wanted to argue, to say that he'd rather not have his arm messed with again, but didn't know what punishment awaited him if he did. He pushed himself to his feet with his good arm and opened his palms outward. "Take me," he murmured, his obnoxiously yellow socks scrunching a little on the cold tile.

Looking like he would need an unmentionable amount of whiskey after this, the doctor walked Connor, who was currently striking a saint-like pose, to his office. On their way in, the latter bumped shoulders with a middle-aged, angry, unshaven man; he looked like he should be in the boondocks, hunting or mudding or setting barrels of trash on fire.

The man turned and got a little too close to Connor. His breath stank and smelled faintly of alcohol. When Larry the Cable Guy's evil twin was half an inch from the much younger man, he asked, "Do you know if someone is in the bathroom?"

The teen stared at him for a long moment before replying, "I don't- I don't know?"

"Well, is the TV room at least empty?" Grunted the man.

Connor shrugged. "Almost."

The man turned sharply, lumbering away to where the sandy-haired guy was without another word.

Unperturbed, Connor followed the doctor into his office and placed his injured arm on the table. "Do your worst, doc."


	4. Connor Protec, Clyde Attac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We're finally getting down to the boys protecting each other. I know that some of the shit in this chapter is going to sound like it's too much or over the top (literally), but I swear to you that what I built on is something that actually happened to me my first time in the hospital. It wasn't as confrontational as I made it in this fic, but Clyde (not his real name) is based on a real person who really did the first part of what happens. Also, there is some minor gay bashing in this chapter, so be aware of that as well! Enjoy!

A couple minutes later, Evan was curled up next to his empty tray. He was just starting to get settled in when a commotion from the front desk caught his attention. A rather disheveled looking man was crouched on the ground, on his hands and knees. He looked like he had fallen and was struggling to get himself back on his feet. At first, no one at the windowed desk noticed the man at all. He crawled several feet without any member of the staff seeing, and it was only when he actually tried to stand and fell that someone ran out.

Fear crashed over Evan and his chest seized a little. Was this man alright? Was he going to get to his destination safely? A nurse came to help him up, and a hand in an awkward, unnatural shape was supporting his lower front. That was a weird place for something like that, but everything was happening too quickly to process at the time. The anxious boy had to look away to be able to understand what he had just witnessed. Only when the scruffy, slightly heavy-set man was gone, was the young man finally capable of puzzling it all out. With the sudden noise and indistinctive arguing gone, Evan's chest was able to unclench. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

The first thing that he realized was that the man was not crawling on the ground because he'd fallen - not exactly, anyway - but rather because he had initially been squatting. On the floor near a bed was a disgusting pile of poop, about the color and consistency of mustard. It slowly dawned on him that this is what the man had been doing down there: he'd been using the restroom, so to speak. The next thing that crashed over Evan was that what he had thought was the flash of a hand in a painful-looking position was actually a penis. He had only been in the hospital less than a day and already it was crazier and more stressful than anything at home. He put his head between his knees and tried to breathe evenly as his chest became painfully tight again.

More yelling started up again, but Evan didn't have to look up to know it was related to the rough-looking man that the nurses had just shooed into the bathroom. They had told him to clean himself up, but it didn't look hopeful.

"Clyde!" One of the nurses knocked on the bathroom door. "We're sending in a clean gown and bottoms. Make sure you change into them, understand?"

From through the shut bathroom door came Clyde's muffled reply. "I don't want any of your fucking clothes! I have plenty of my own, keep your shitty charity!"

The nurse paused, looking exhausted. She looked up at the ceiling for the better part of a minute before saying, "Clyde, I won't tell you again. You have to wear our clothes. You can't have your street clothes in here right now in case they're dirty or have something dangerous in them."

A hand came down hard against the bathroom door. "I don't want your fucking charity! I can dress myself, you bitch!"

Evan winced, tucking his head further into his knees. He couldn't stand confrontation, and the cussing made it worse. He'd just been able to finally not want to heave horrible sobs and now they all had to be so loud and angry. He unconsciously began to rock back and forth, trying to soothe himself.

In the time that his vision had been blocked, Clyde must have come out of the bathroom in his clean clothes. Or, at least Evan hoped those were clean, he couldn't exactly tell when he raised his head. All that he knew was that the somewhat larger man was walking towards him - limping, really - and he didn't know what was going to happen.

"Oh, um, hello sir," Evan said, trying to will himself not to babble. "If-if-if you want a seat- if you want a seat, the first and third-third are already taken. Not that- not that- not that you need to sit down if you don't-don't want to. I just meant that if you wanted to, you could sit down in any seat other than these two. That's it, just these two."

Clyde looked at the chair were the beautiful boy from earlier had been sitting and then back at Evan. The long-haired, dimpled teen had left his blanket and ice water in the recliner, but the large man shoved them both to the floor before decidedly taking a seat.

"No, no, no, no, no," Evan cried, standing up quickly. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm so, so, so, so sorry. It's just that the boy with the dimples - the boy with the long hair and the dimples, you saw him, right? Well, you see that's his seat and so he's gonna be right back and you're going to be in his spot. And he's going to be all like, 'Oh no, that's my seat.' And then he'll look at me and ask me why I didn't tell you that this seat was occupied, except that I  _did_  and it would just all be easier if you chose a different seat." He paused a moment and then added, "Please."

Standing, Clyde approached Evan, who took a step back. Then Clyde took another step forward and Evan took another step back. They continued like this until the sandy-haired man's back was against the wall and he leaning away from the other. He could see - and smell - the other man's rotting teeth and the aroma of something that reminded him of pee and rubbing alcohol drifted his way. He suppressed a shudder.

"Are you telling me what to do?" Clyde asked, getting much too close for comfort.

Evan stooped to try and get away from the guy's mouth. However, he only ended up right next to Clyde's crotch and that wasn't any good, either. All that he could think about was the flaccid penis that he'd caught sight of earlier. He immediately stood back up. "No, no, no, sir, it's just that - it's just that - it's just that that seat was taken by the handsome long-haired guy with the dimples and-"

Clyde suddenly seemed personally offended. "Are you  _gay_?"

"More like pansexual, sir," Evan said very quietly.

"Are you trying to confuse me? I don't know what that is! I don't think anyone in their right mind-"

"Hey!" The boy with dimples was back, his arm freshly rebandaged. "Clearly, none of us are in our right minds, Larry the Cable Guy. If we were, we wouldn't be here. Leave him the fuck alone!"

He turned towards the windows of the nurse's station, taking a couple long strides to rap on the glass. When someone looked up - there weren't many staff members in there - he jerked his thumb towards where Evan was nearly cowering on the floor. The poor boy looked extremely stressed. The nurse stood, and instead of running towards the conflict, ran back the other way. The tall boy threw his hands in the air in frustration and strode over to Clyde, giving him a large shove. "Get the fuck off of him, you hillbilly asshat!"

Clyde stumbled back into a couple of recliners, allowing Evan to get out of the corner he'd been trapped in. While he wanted to go back to his bed and hide, he felt terrible about leaving the other teen in a fight because of him.

With some effort, Clyde got up and returned the shove, tenfold. When the teen went down, he kicked him in the ribs.

"Clyde! Get off of Connor!" The nurse from before came running around the hall. Behind her was a small army of security guards - that is to say, there were three of them.

Connor. His defender's name was Connor.

Sitting up a little bit, Connor managed to spit at Clyde before one of the security guards grabbed the much larger man.

Evan shuffled towards the teen, offering him a hand to help him up. A nurse was cleaning up the spilled water, and the chaos was mostly over with, but his chest still felt tight.

"Fucking homos!" Clyde managed to yell as he was being forcibly moved to his bed.

Connor snorted. "Yeah, well, fuck your shitty ass, too."

Evan couldn't hold back a snicker. Connor turned to him, openly acknowledging him for the first time. "What?" He asked in a much more gentle voice.

Sitting back down in his seat, the blond somehow wasn't having any trouble articulating himself. It was probably the adrenaline. All of a sudden, his head was in his hands and he was laughing harder than he had in a long time.

"What is it?" Connor didn't seem mean or rude about it, but just like he wanted in on the joke. He began to sit down on his chair, too, but Evan stopped him.

"He, um. He-" Evan was almost laughing too hard to get out the words. The sound was strange, as if the sound shouldn't happen in the dimly lit emergency room. Maybe it was a reaction to all this stress. "He kind of pooped and then-then-then he, um, sat in your chair."

Connor looked alarmed for a moment. Moving one seat over, he looked to Evan to see if this recliner was safe. Upon seeing the nod, he sat down. Then, he started laughing too.

"He  _pooped_?" He asked, wanting more information. "Where?"

"The floor over there," giggled Evan in return. "He, um, I don't know. He didn't say why but then he came in here and sat in your seat and I told him not to and-"

The laughter was making it hard to speak, which thankfully cut down on the excessive use of words. Connor nodded, understanding.

"You were defending my seat." He murmured, suddenly a little more serious.

Evan nodded, tears streaming down his face and his own mirth dying. He suddenly couldn't tell if he was crying from the effort of laughing or because of the overwhelming events of the day.

"And he got in your face and-and started verbally attacking you," Connor continued.

Evan nodded; he  _had_  been accosted. "And then you came and got him off of me," he finished.

They both fell quiet, realizing that even though they hadn't known one another, they'd each done something to help the other. After a few moments, Connor mumbled, "I'm Connor."

"I'm Evan," Evan replied.

And with that, they fell into a contented silence. It was easier to spend the next couple of hours quietly watching television, knowing that at least they weren't alone. They each had at least one friend here; there are some things that you go through in life that you just can't come out of not being friends. Fighting a troll in the girl's bathroom is one of them, and apparently, so is surviving being personally attacked by a homophobic, evil version of Larry the Cable Guy.


	5. Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry that this has taken so incredibly long to put up. Classes started again and I've been working and it has been rough. Anyway, I've decided that I'm going to try and update this fic every Wednesday, so you guys have an actual date to look for this fic to be posted! Anyway, enjoy!

They must have sat there for hours that way: Evan and Connor, side by side, watching crap reruns of various cable shows. Evan didn't ask about Connor's arm and Connor didn't ask about Evan's nervousness or stammering. For a while, they just had a nice, comfortable silence between the two of them.

Around eight, a social worker with a clipboard came over to the two. This was not the first staff member to come up and enquire things from them; a frustrated nurse had come up and checked out Connor's bruised side, muttering about the quality of the previous shift.

"All of them were out on a smoke break.  _All_ of them. There were five people in that cube and not one of them could come out and help you poor boys!  _Then_ , they leave checking on you up to me, as if they aren't qualified to do it!" The grandmotherly nurse looked up quickly. "Not that you're a hardship to care for, dear. You're sweet as pie."

Connor snorted. "You'd be the first to say that."

A worried frown developed on the older woman's face, and she clucked softly. "Oh dear. Do you not get much love at home or at school?"

"No, it's not that," Connor said, fighting the urge to bristle at such a sympathetic tone. It reminded him of his mother; she was always trying to coddle him while everyone else mocked and yelled at him. He just wanted something in the middle, someone who didn't treat him like a child or get mad at him every ten seconds. "It's just that... that... I'm just not a very good person is all."

The nurse shook her head. "I don't believe that one bit," she said firmly. When Connor didn't argue, she got up and walked back to the station.

Now, the man with the clipboard stood in front of them. He didn't seem to be a nurse or a doctor, based on his clothing: he was wearing some work pants and a tucked in blue shirt. Just as Connor began to wonder what his role was, his question was answered.

"Hello, boys. My name is Gerald Smith and I'm one of the social workers here. I know you already had to talk to one before you were admitted, Evan, but this time isn't quite like that. Connor, Evan, you're both being transferred to another hospital tonight. Connor, you're being taken at around 11:00 pm or so. Evan, for you it will probably be a bit later. Any questions?"

Evan looked like someone had punched him in the gut. His face was a little pale, and his eyes were wide. Connor was sure that he didn't look too thrilled, either. He didn't do a very good job at making friends, and there was no way in hell that he'd be able to do so anywhere else. Therefore, his hand shot into the air and he asked, "Yes. Why aren't we staying here?"

The social worker looked at him like he had lost his mind, which was a plausible theory. Who would have wanted to stay in this ward, let alone in this hospital? It wasn't really known for its medical treatment of mentally ill patients. "Um... Well, Connor, this is more for people with behavior issue rather than people who-"

"People who want to off themselves?"

"That's one way to put it, I guess." Gerald mumbled, looking highly uncomfortable. Connor felt himself becoming defensive and a little angry again. Fucking Gerald- and the fact that they were being moved- was pissing him off. The social worker began to continue before stopping another moment, looking exhausted. He was probably not paid enough to deal with this shit; maybe most of his clients (Was that the right word? Connor didn't know.) were as obnoxious as this one was and he just needed a vacation. Still, he felt no desire to go easier on the man. Gerald cleared his throat, looking the two over. He was clearly mentally preparing himself when he asked, "Any more questions?"

Connor once again threw his hand into the air. "Where are we going?"

Gerald squinted at the paper. "It doesn't look like they put that on this sheet."

"Will we at least be together?" Evan asked, causing both of the other men to look at him. He had been silent up until this point.

The social worker looked uncomfortable again and took a couple steps back. "Let me go and check."

A moment later, he'd rounded the corner and was gone.

"He must have been new," Connor said, staring blankly at the television. "Ten bucks says he isn't coming back anytime soon."

Evan shrugged. "He could decide to. I'm sure that he's just going to check on where we'll be placed."

Connor shook his head, disbelieving. How could this kid have such a positive view of the man they'd just met- especially considering where they were?

"Unlikely. His body language and wording implied that we won't be together. If we were, he'd just come out with it. He'd be the one to know."

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Evan deflate like an old balloon. The guy actually  _sunk down_  in the recliner. He face was crestfallen and perhaps for the first time in ages, the taller boy wished he could have taken back his words. "Look, I'm sorry. Maybe we will be together. Maybe neither of us will be alone."

Evan's eyes were watery and Connor would have jumped off a cliff if that'd help. The blond slouched more, curling into himself. "No. No, you're right. We probably aren't going to end up together. I don't know why I would think of that."

Connor had no words to help; they both fell into an uncomfortable silence. It lacked all of the niceness from the previous silence and it made time go even slower.

Neither of them spoke for what had to be hours. Neither of them wanted to somehow make the pain the other was feeling any worse. Through the blinded window beside the chairs, one could barely tell that the sun had gone down hours ago. The yellowed, fluorescent lights gave the effect that no time was passing at all; they were just stuck.

Connor wanted to go to the bed that they had designated as his, but that would mean leaving Evan. The other boy looked so incredibly miserable that something in him screamed to stay. Therefore, he barely shifted in his seat.

That is, not until an EMT came over, trying to give him a reassuring smile. "Connor Murphy?" The man asked.

Connor nodded, looking the man over. He was heavyset, but not in a bad way; dude looked like he had muscles. He also had a mane of ginger hair that was pulled into a bun, black gauges, and tattoos trailing up what was exposed of his arms.

"We're here to transfer you," Gingerman said.

Connor turned to glance at Evan. He had been half-asleep, but now he was sitting straight up. It looked like he might cry. Connor tried to give him a small, reassuring smile, but it probably looked grimmer than he meant it too; he was feeling more upset than he had expected.

Gingerman nodded to another EMT that was waiting a few feet away. That man rolled a gurney over, and suddenly the long-haired teen was starting to get worried.

"I-I don't need that. I can just walk and then, uh, sit," Connor tried to assure them.

The other EMT, a man with long, black hair shook his head. "I'm sorry, kid, but it's safety regulations. You gotta sit up on this bad boy or we don't transfer you."

Connor glanced at Evan and then back at the gurney. Finally, with much regret, he clambered onto the wheeled monstrosity. One of the EMTs handed him the blanket that he'd left on the seat of his recliner and gently covered him with it. The other began to quickly and expertly strap him in. "There you go. Do you want to say goodbye to your friend here?"

Evan and Connor locked gazes.

"Goodbye," Connor said, swallowing hard.

Evan had begun to cry and his voice cracked and broke when he replied, "'bye, Con."

A couple of minutes later, Connor was still thinking about the other boy's farewell as he was pushed into the cold night air and loaded into the ambulance. For the rest of the evening, even after he was allowed to go to bed, those two words played over and over in his head. He went to sleep wondering if he'd ever see Evan again.


	6. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I know that this chapter is sort of long and isn't as dialogue-heavy or action-packed, but I thought it was necessary to detail the steps that were taken to get our boy where he is. Also, the hospital that Evan is transported to is supposed to be based on the first hospital I was in. Somehow, I lucked into being transported to this super “resort-like” (their words, not mine) mental health facility. Perhaps as a way of coping, I am rehashing this fanfic sort of loosely around that first hospital experience. If you want to read about my other hospital experience, it should come up in my other fanfiction, “Man of the House.” Furthermore, I am now taking commissions for any pieces you may want! I know it’s not like I’m super established, but I figure I’d put the information out there now, anyway. I'd also love to be contacted about collabs, trades, and so on! My email is Bridgethamilton723@gmail.com. Enjoy!

The moment that the doors slammed behind Connor, Evan completely  _ lost  _ it.  He had been crying as his friend was leaving, of course, but this… this was not the same thing at all.  His breathing was getting fast and panicky, just as it had earlier in the day.  He couldn’t control himself, not in any way that mattered, and he just stuck his head between his knees, rocking.

_ Z, y, x, w, v, u, t _ ….  Evan just kept trying to memorize the alphabet backward.  Maybe it would calm him down this time?  

It didn’t.

It felt like an hour before a nurse came back over with a small, white pill in a cup.  In reality, it had been maybe five or ten minutes.  The woman had her curly brown hair pulled up into a bun, and she smiled.  Her badge read  _ Nicole _ .  “Do you want something to help calm you down?”  She asked.

Evan swallowed hard and then nodded fervently.  He knew that some people resisted medicine, but at this point, he would have eaten light bulbs if that'd help.  He tossed back the pill, chased it with some ice water, and closed his eyes.  Nicole left and eventually, it seemed like he was able to breathe normally again.  He stayed in the chair, watching the television for the next few hours.

* * *

 

At about three in the morning, the same men who came for Connor came for Evan.  He was surprisingly still awake, staring blankly at the colors moving on the television screen.  He was not excited to find out what surprises the rest of this hospital visit had up its sleeve for him; after all, he’d already made and lost a friend in less than twelve hours.  That had to be some kind of record.

The red-headed man smiled, not showing any sign of exhaustion.  “You’re up, little guy!”

Evan winced at his cheerfulness and hoped that he didn’t want an answer.  With any luck, the man would calm down as they went on.

The man stooped, lowering the gurney so that Evan could climb onto it and lay down.  Then, they strapped him in all nice and snug, draped a blanket over him, and rolled him through the hall.  Soon they were headed out the ward doors, through the lobby, and out into the freezing October air.  Once there, they lifted him into the ambulance and then shut him up in the cold darkness.

All the while, Evan couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Connor had felt and seen.

The redheaded man was especially loud in the small space of the ambulance.  His voice was booming and echoing, relaying what he had said to his sister or husband or whoever.  When he and the other EMT finally fell silent, their patient could breathe easier.

However, in that silence, Evan realized that he had no idea where they were taking him.  The social worker hadn’t ever come back, and he didn’t even know how to tell his mom where he was.  What if no one told her that he was being moved?  What if she just kept asking for him at the last hospital and they wouldn’t tell her anything?

A small whimper escaped his lips, and Evan squeezed his eyes shut. In the moment, he focused on the cold and the slight shakiness of the ambulance.

When gingerman started shuffling around, Evan opened his eyes.  He wasn’t sure if they had arrived so quickly after he had closed them just by chance, or because he had fallen asleep.  Regardless, the ambulance pulled up to the entrance of another hospital and parked.  Soon enough, they had the young man out and were rolling him through the slightly darkened halls.  

At a certain point, they met a police officer.  He looked kind of tough and over-caffeinated.

“This the last one tonight?” The cop asked, watching as the EMTs helped Evan off of the gurney and onto his own socked feet.  

Gingerman passed the plastic bag of Evan’s personal belongings to the officer, nodding.  “The very last one.  Have fun with him.”

With that, the two turned around and headed back towards the entrance.

The officer looked at Evan and then nodded down the hall. “This way.”

The path to their destination was something of a labyrinth and by the time that they arrived, Evan was even more exhausted.  The police officer had long legs, and the significantly shorter teen was struggling to keep up.

Opening the door, the officer led him into a room with a desk and a couple of chairs.  Flopping paperwork in front of the younger man, the elder frowned.  “I’m Officer Montgomery.  I just need you to initial and sign these papers and then we can get you talking to Linda.”

Evan nodded, beginning on the forms before him.  By the time he had finished, he had never been so sick of his own name.  Then, Montgomery took any valuables--only one, a watch--from the patient and locked it up in a bag with his name on it.  Finally, the two men got up and went across the hall where the younger was left with Linda.

Linda was a short, plump, grandmotherly woman.  She tutted at Evan as he sat anxiously in his chair, shaking her head. “Oh, hello there, love.  Do you want anything?  Here, have a bit of Sprite and some pretzels.”

Before Evan could refuse, she had poured the pop into a styrofoam cup and was shoving a bag of pretzels at him.  He took them and began to eat absentmindedly.

“Okay, my dear.  This is going to sort of be like a game of twenty questions, only it’s going to have more than that.  Let’s get started, okay?  Why are you here?”

Evan would have started crying again if he still had the strength to.  “I, um.  I wanted to k-- I wanted to d--” He took in a deep breath, let it out, and said, “I want to disappear.”

“Cease to exist?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have a plan?”

Evan didn’t reply.

“Mr. Hansen.  Sweetie, did you have a plan?”

There was another moment, and then Evan nodded.

“Okay,” Linda continued. “How long have you felt like this?”

“A few months.”

“Did you have anyone to talk to about this?  Therapist, parent, friend?”

Evan swallowed. “I had a therapist, but he didn’t take me seriously when I told him that I was thinking about hurting myself.  He sort of carried on as if I hadn’t said it.”

“And what would you have wanted him to say?”

“Something more than- than- ‘oh’...”

So the questioning went, taking with it another can and a half of Sprite and another bag of pretzels.  It was about four in the morning when Linda finally walked Evan down the darkened halls and through several doors.  Finally, they were on a ward-- only it didn’t really look like a ward.  

The ceiling was high and there were skylights.  There were long tables with lots of chairs, and cheerfully bricked walls.  On one wall was a table piled with puzzles and coloring pages.  To the left of this table were windows and a door to go outside.  To the left of  _ that _ was a dark room with chairs lining two walls and a television.  Straight ahead from the way Evan came in was a small library and a curved, waist-high bookshelf.

Linda took him to the front desk, of which was a gentle circle.  It was nothing like the sharp square from the last hospital.  The women there were kind and gave him a menu to fill out, asking him polite questions as he did so.

By the time he’d finished picking his food, Evan looked up and realized that Linda had gone.  Nurse Sarah, a blonde with a high ponytail and dazzling smile, grabbed a pair of blue scrubs, a male nurse, and a clipboard with some papers on it.  Leading Evan through one of two long halls, she opened the very last door on the right, turning on the light.  Even in his tired state, he understood that it was to be his room.

“Okay, sweetheart.  This is going to be a little awkward here, but I need you to completely strip out of those hospital clothes and into these blue scrubs,” she said with an apologetic smile.

Evan nodded, grabbing the scrubs and opening the door of the attached bathroom.  However, the male nurse stopped him. 

“We need you to strip in front of us, actually,” the nurse, Kev, said.  “I know it’s not something that’s fun.  It’s just that we need to see any marking that you have--cuts, tattoos, scars, that kind of thing.”

Evan nodded, letting out a nervous breath.  This part was worse than the changing he did at the first place.  He began to undress, and as he did, Nurse Sarah took notes.  She didn’t have much to record: he had two scars and a tattoo on his right hip and that was all.

“Is this your first time in inpatient?” Kev asked when she was done and Evan was hurriedly pulling on the scrubs.  The younger man nodded.  

“Can I go to sleep now?” He asked once he was dressed.  Kev nodded, and Nurse Sarah gently said goodnight as Evan turned off the light.  Despite all that happened, he wasn’t too traumatized to fall asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

* * *

 

“It’s seven, we need to get your vitals and feed you breakfast.  Time to get up!”  A loud woman yelled from the door.  Evan groaned. He hadn’t gotten much quality sleep; people kept making noise and opening his door in the three hours he’d been asleep.

Dragging himself out of bed, he rubbed his eyes, smoothed his hair, and stumbled out into the main room.  The lights were on now, but it was too early to take in details; Evan just wanted to get his vitals, eat his food, and go back to sleep.

A nurse ushered him over to a chair where she got his pulse, blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature.  “There’s the food over there, in that big metal box,” she told him after.  “It should have a paper with your name on it.”

Evan nodded, heading over and removing his specified tray.  Turning back around, he started to make his way towards a table when something out of the corner of his eye made him do a double take.  The second time he saw it, he dropped the entire tray of food in his arms.  

Connor was sitting in the chair that Evan had just been in, getting his vitals.


	7. Like the Buddy System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! sorry about posting this so late; the site crashed literally as I was trying to post earlier! I know that last weeks chapter was not treebros filled, buuut I felt it was important to detail how hospitals (or, at least my experience with them) handle psych patients when they need be transferred. Also, I just wanted to point out pretty early on that I don't want this to glorify the people you meet in the hospital. Often times, those friendships don't work out and can be dangerous-both to your own recovery and sometimes your safety. Also, if you just want to chat, put in a commission, or want to collaborate with me in any way, my tumblr is enjolr-got-dat-ass.
> 
> I recently had a very rough experience recently with a man who got a little too attached to me. We had met on the psych ward, and right after I got out, I ended up breaking up with my boyfriend. This man (we'll call him B for anonymity's sake) decided that I was the only person in his life that mattered. He kept saying he wanted to help me through my depression and that I could help him through his. When I said that I needed space, he would sort of vaguely threaten to take his own life, saying it wasn't worth living if I wasn't in it. At this point, we'd only been out of the hospital a week or two. At the worst of it, I couldn't handle his shit and my own, so I provided him with resources. B said that he didn't want their help, only mine and that he wouldn't let trained professionals help him. Finally, I convinced him to leave me alone, and he did for a while. However, a couple of nights ago he texted me saying that he loved me. I felt uneasy and a friend urged me to block his number, so I did.
> 
> Okay, my long, rambly, personal story over. Point is, it often can be very unhealthy to befriend people you meet in mental facilities. I'm not saying that it's impossible to be friends outside of those spaces, but you have to know when and where to set boundaries. Since I want to make this fic as realistic as possible, I'm going to work this in here as well. However, just because it's hard to be friends in a situation doesn't mean it's impossible, and we'll get to explore the possibility of that kind of relationship throughout!
> 
> Last thing: when beginning this chapter, I forgot it was supposed to be Connor's pov and focused on Evan again. That's why Con might seem a little Evan-ish at the beginning-- I was too lazy too go back and rewrite it! (It was also partly because I usually write these the day they are to be posted because I have shit time managment skills oops.) Anyway, enjoy!

The moment the tray hit the ground, two nurses rushed to Evan's side. It was evident that they were trying to make sure that he was unharmed and not feeling faint, but their frantic questions fell on deaf ears. Connor only had eyes for Evan, and the only sound he could focus on was that of his heart pounding. Without seeming to make a conscious decision, the blond strode across the day room to where the tall man was standing, immediately wrapping him in a hug. The warmth of the other man's body was extremely comforting and the dark haired man just about melted into the physical contact. Although he didn't often show it, he cherished touch even more than anything else.

After a couple of seconds, Connor placed one of his hands on the small of Evan's back. The other one came to rest on his shoulders.

They stayed like this for a good fifteen seconds. In those fifteen seconds, Connor had begun to feel almost comfortable again. He couldn't exactly explain it, but Evan felt sort of like his bed did: warm, cozy, and safe from the rest of the world. It was as if his darkened room had been squished into a compact human being. There, he didn't have anything to worry about because the warmth of the blankets and soothing black of the walls were wrapping him in a hug. The place extinguished any anger as effectively as a cool night. He could stay in bed for days, not moving except for the bare necessities.

It was probably because the shorter man was the only consistent face he'd seen, but that didn't matter. Right now, what  _did_  matter was that he didn't feel terrible.

"Hey, you two! No physical contact!"

Evan and Connor reluctantly let go and backed up from one another. The nurses seemed happy enough with this and turned back to trying to clean up the food mess. As they did so, a tall middle-aged woman with dark hair and a slightly vacant look in her eyes came out and snatched up a biscuit off of the floor, hurrying backward several steps to escape the nurse trying to grab it back.

"Margot! You can't eat that, it isn't yours  _and_  it was on the floor!" Nurse Sarah raced after her and snagged the biscuit.

"You're trying to starve me. They've been trying to starve me for weeks!" Margot yelled, stomping her foot.

Nurse Sarah looked like she hoped that her shift ended soon. "You're tray is over here. We aren't trying to starve you; breakfast just got here in the metal box over there." As Margot went and searched through the indicated container, the blonde woman added, "Only take what's yours!"

Connor exchanged a look with Evan, mostly one that communicated confusion and exhaustion. The blond boy before him looked like he didn't get any sleep at all last night.

Not sure what to say, Connor went to retrieve his tray from the place everyone else had gotten theirs. He carried it to a small, empty table and plopped down. Evan followed, joining him. For a long moment, neither of them looked at the other.

However, when a nurse brought Evan more food-whatever was leftover in the kitchen, apparently- Connor began to eat a little, too. They consumed their meals in yet another comfortable silence. By the time they declared themselves done, their plates looked vastly different: Evan's was completely empty, while his friend's was barely touched. Connor had drunk the milk and juice cups and had eaten a few grapes, but otherwise, his pancakes and bacon were untouched. Taking the tray back, he shoved it in its respective slot and returned to the table. Evan stood up and walked over to do that same.

"Connor?" One of the nurses asked. Her name appeared to be Deb, according to her badge. "Are you sure you didn't want more of what's on your tray? You barely touched a thing."

Connor shook his head. "Not that hungry."

The nurse looked like she wanted to say more but didn't.

By then, Evan was back at the table and he looked even more tired than before. "I'm gonna go take a shower and brush my teeth," he said softly.

Connor nodded, getting up and trudging back to his room, too. He would have tried to make himself take a shower or maybe even just brush his teeth, but he had gotten terrible at self-care lately. He had no intention of changing that right now. His body would survive being neglected another day.

Instead, the man merely looked up at the high, slanted ceiling. There were tall windows that didn't open. You couldn't even adjust the blinds normally. Next to those sat a tiny nook with a bench so that people could rest and look out. Then, over across from the bed was a dresser and a desk.

Shaking his head, Connor just rolled onto his side with a sigh. He didn't know how long he dozed like this, staring at the bench, but it only felt like a minute later when a voice called into his room. Maybe it had been.

"Time for rec therapy!" An overly cheerful voice chirped at the door.

Connor groaned and rolled back over. If he had known that these group things were optional, he would have stayed in bed, but no one had passed on the message.

The tall man got up and padded down the hallway, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He had only been allowed one since he was still on suicide watch; however, it was a hell of a lot less strict here than it was at the other hospital.

When Connor arrived at the long table where group was meeting, Evan was already there sitting in front of a blank piece of paper. He looked like he felt cleaner and his hair was still damp.

"Hello, everyone," the rec therapy counselor said. He was a short, sharply dressed black man who had a very friendly disposition. Connor recognized his as the voice who'd woken him up. "Today we're going to be using art to express our emotions. On the paper in front of you, and with the markers, crayons, and colored pencils, I want you to draw something that shows how you are feeling today. It doesn't have to be perfect, just show what you are thinking. Later on, you can share and explain what it means to you if you would like."

Connor knew that there was no way in hell that he was going to share, but he carefully drew a detailed picture of a forest. Mostly all you could see was the trunks, but it got the point across.

While everyone else shared what their picture meant, Connor and Evan both stayed silent. The blond's picture was a dark tornado tearing apart a small village.

"What does it mean?" Connor asked once group had ended and everyone else had gone.

Evan glanced at Connor's masterpiece and smiled a little bit at the extremely detailed picture before returning to his own. "It's, um. It's how my-my anxiety, um, um, and depression make me feel? Like, this big-big tornado is hitting and, um, I can't get away?"

Connor nodded, understanding the feeling- except he was usually the tornado.

"What's your supposed to mean?" Evan asked.

Connor shrugged, looking at the dark forest scene. "I don't know. It's sort of like I'm trapped in this big, dark woods and I can't find my way out. Night is falling faster and faster and I'm still trapped. No one even knows I'm gone and I'm so tired so I lay down and all I can see is the trunks of the trees and some moss and bugs. No one is looking for me. I, um. I had that happen to me once, as a kid. We were camping and my sister, Zoe, told everyone I was asleep in the tent we shared. No one knew I was gone until the morning because she fell asleep in my parents' tent and forgot to tell them that I really was just playing in the woods."

A look of recognition fluttered onto Evan's face and he nodded quietly.

"Only I wasn't playing in the woods anymore," Connor said softly, eyes glassy. It looked like he was going to cry, but he didn't. Instead, he continued. "I was scared and alone all night. When they found me I had at least three ticks and so many bug bites that I was  _covered_ in anti-itch cream for days. Maybe that's when I started hating my sister a little bit. Maybe that's when I started hating myself, too. I was nine."

Evan looked down at the table and they both fell silent for a long time. Finally, he said softly. "Um, um, you know, I, um. I worked as an apprentice park ranger and I know a lot about, um, trees? And maybe we can get you, um, get you out of that scary forest. Together, I mean. It'd sort of be like the buddy system."

Connor paused, amazed that someone would even offer that. "Yeah," he said, barely above a whisper. "Like the buddy system."


	8. Saved by the Murphy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I've been super crazy busy lately. As I talked about in the author's note on my other fic, I had a fantastic date with a lovely gentleman Friday night until almost Saturday afternoon. There's a slight chance that he might be reading this, but he is a very busy bee and has much to do. However, I shared it with him because I trust him and rehashing all of it myself- again -is tiring. Anyway, I also have classes and work and training to be a pharmacy tech, so please don't think I died if I don't post exactly on time! I'm gonna shoot for one chapter every week for both pieces, but they're probably gonna be shorter than I want them to be- including this one. I promise that I'm not going to cut out planned content, the chapters are just going to be broken up more. Sorry, guys. Fuck, everything is making me so exhausted lately! Okay, that's all the updates I have for now! Enjoy!

Despite knowing that his mother would not pick up, Evan went ahead and tried to dial her number nevertheless. She would have been at work by now, and she never had her phone on there; it could distract her from taking care of the people in her unit. Still, he hoped that she would somehow have left it on, know it was him and step into a bathroom and answer.

She didn't.

"Um, hey mom," Evan said after he was instructed to leave a voicemail. "I just wanted you to know that they moved me? I don't know if you knew that, but maybe-maybe they told you. Um, the-the ward phone number is-is," He had to take a shaky breath before he could relay this information and closed his eyes tightly.

Something about calling his mother made everything feel like it was closing in again, but he did his best to push that fear away. "Um, my code so that you can-can call me is 1682. I- um- I love you. Call me back, please."

After that, Evan shifted to stare at the tall bookshelves in the library to his right. There were books upon books in there, but he had no idea if they were any good. Standing, he made his way into the tiny room, looking around at his choices.

"There are a lot of really good books in here," Margot's voice said from the doorway. She was next to him in seconds, looking over the selection with him. Really, he wanted to be left alone in order to pick out which one he could fall into, but that clearly wasn't going to happen with her poking around the shelves. Anxiety gnawed on his stomach. He wasn't sure how much longer he could be around another stranger right now.

"Yeah, there-there-there is," Evan said, although it really didn't look like there was. The only books he could see where cheezy romance novels, some history books about war generals, and several books on being Catholic.

Margot retrieved a large children's book from the left shelf and smiled at the blond. "Let me read to you," she said.

"It-it's really fine. I know how to read," Evan said, trying to step away. His chest was tight and he didn't want to be here right now. He needed to go back to his room and hide in the bathroom or maybe under the covers of his bed. He snagged a Mary Higgins Clark book from the shelf. "Look, I have a book. I don't need to get another one. It's fine."

Margot shook her head. "You have to read this one. It's got lots of stories in it and there's this really good one that you're gonna love."

Evan merely nodded, deciding that he could not win. He stepped back and collapsed into one of the four recliners, barely keeping himself calm. "

Read it to me," he said softly.

Margot beamed and launched into a story about a duckling with little boots on but no other clothes. She even turned it around to show Evan the pictures.

When it was finished, he smiled as best as he could without it turning into a grimace; his chest was really aching and he didn't know exactly how to fix it. He stood and pressed the book to it in an effort to aid that.

"It's a really good story, Margot. I-I have to go and-"

Margot's face fell. "No. No, you can't go. I still have more stories to tell!"

A familiar dark shape appeared in the doorway; Connor was there with his arms over his chest. "Evan said he needed to go, Margot."

"But he's my son! He needs shoes and stories and I am going to provide him with that," Margot yelled. "God sent him to me!"

Connor swallowed and Evan worried that he would either upset Margot further or back down. Instead, the taller man gave a gentle smile. "He's going to come with me. He'll get shoes with me and you can go back to reading your book for a while. Okay?"

After considering a moment, Margot nodded and Connor led Evan out of the library. The blond could hardly contain himself, he was so anxious. "I have to go."

Connor didn't look disappointed or upset; instead, he just simply nodded as if he had expected it the entire time. "Okay. Take it easy, alright? Try not to get cornered by anymore mentally ill people."

"You mean like all of us here?" Evan blurted before he could stop himself.

Connor smiled, chuckling a bit. He actually _smiled_ at Evan like he thought what he said was funny. He had never had that happen before.

"I guess you're right. But really, I don't want to have to save you again. Just go and get some rest." Connor nodded towards Evan's hall, and the latter could do nothing but comply.

Back in his room, Evan sat on his bed for a minute before deciding to lock himself into the bathroom. It was still a little damp and steamy, but he didn't care. He shoved himself into the small space between the toilet and the wall and rocked back and forth. The only time he stopped was when a nurse popped her head into his room to check on him and tell him group was starting soon.


	9. Resort-Like Getaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have been frantically writing this chapter and the one for my other fic in the little time I have had free from classes, work, and pharmacy tech training. Ya girl's been busy, guys. Usually busy is good for me, but it kind of feels like I'm drowning a little bit right now. However, I gotta push through. Still, I ask myself sometimes, "Isn't this the reason you were hospitalized in the first place? Overworking and then your depression and anxiety got to you and you just... gave up?"
> 
> I try to ignore that voice as often as it lets me.
> 
> Anyway, enough of my fucking dark ass. I know that the last chapter didn't exactly seem to be a fan favorite (and that's probably at least partially because it wasn't a favorite of mine to write so that devotion and dedication and love didn't seep through) but I am excited to write this one! I'm gonna try and fill it with more talk between Connor and Evan as well as some meaningful content. I'm so sorry that the last one didn't really move us along, plot-wise!
> 
> Okay, guys! I hope that you enjoy!

Connor was sitting in the media room, staring blankly at the television. He was barely registering the colors flickering before his eyes - and who could blame him? It was hard enough to  _see_ the screen, let alone process what was happening on it. The TV was encased in a large wooden display case type thing with plexiglass instead of actual glass. The glare from the sunshine behind him made it nearly impossible to see what was happening underneath.

"Alright, guys," a tall, thin blonde lady came in, shutting whatever had been playing off. She turned to face most of the other people outside in the day room. "It's time for some group therapy!"

Internally, Connor groaned. Were they gonna talk about their feelings now? What about braid each other's hair?

A moment later, he winced. This was why he was here: to get help. Well, that and he'd botched his own suicide attempt. He decided to actually try and learn something from this if he could.

The blonde woman came over to him, practically shoving a composition notebook into his hands. "Here, you're new. You'll be needing one of these."

Connor grasped the notebook and blinked at it a moment. Finally, he asked. "Well, how am I supposed to write in it?  _What_ am I supposed to write in it?"

The woman smiled a little bit, but he wasn't quite sure if it was genuine or not. "You write anything you want in there, silly. We also will give you assignments to do that you can complete in there."

Connor nodded, noting vaguely that his name was written on the cover in black, cursive Sharpie. "Okay, that answers the 'what,' but how about the 'how'?"

The blonde smiled a little. "We don't let you keep pencils in here, but you are allowed to use them. If you want one when we aren't in group, you're going to have to ask for one at the front desk."

She picked up the pencil container and passed it to Connor. When he took one out of the box, he looked into the yellow-orange sea and noticed that none of them were sharped to a point. Every single one of them was dull and had been worn down, which made him wonder whose job it was to make them like that. It seems like a ridiculous task, but maybe they really  _were_ that dedicated to patient safety after all.

The woman glanced down at his bandaged arms, smiled tightly, and took the box back in a slightly jerky motion. Connor felt rage kind of bubbling in his chest; how dare she think that he would hurt himself with a box of pencils? What was he going to do, toss them backwards at himself? Scatter them everywhere and hope that one of them hit the right spot with enough force to break skin? He'd do more damage with his one than with the forty or so that she now possessed.

The only thing that broke Connor from these all-consuming thoughts was the sight of a sleepy Evan walking through the sliding doors. It was weird because he had not felt like this in a long time, but a nervous tickle ran through Connor's stomach. God  _damn_ was this dude cute.

Connor had never come out to anyone, honestly. He accepted his admiration for the male body and also the fact that men in promiscuous situations aroused him while women in the same state did not. Still, he did not consider himself to be gay. In fact, in the midst of all of his self-loathing and anger, it didn't seem that important, really.

Until now.

The thing was, Connor had been attracted to men, but never because of who they were. He merely enjoyed the view. With this nervous wreck, on the other hand, he wanted something more. That was terrifying and also exciting and holy  _fuck_ was it strange. He kept finding himself having these non-sexual fantasies of the two of them walking through the woods, holding hands. He would ask Evan to tell him about trees, and the smaller man would give his best Apprentice Park Ranger speech for Connor. There also  _might_ have been a sunset involved.

The long-haired man dropped his head into his hands and huffed. This was too much all at once he decided and tried to push the daydreams away.

Evan gave Connor an exhausted smile and plopped down into the chair next to him.

"Are you doing okay?" Connor asked softly as more patients filed in.

Evan gave a small nod. "Just... had a bit of a panic attack is all."

Connor bit his lip and just nodded. He knew very little about panic attacks, just that they were horrible. He used to have some as a kid when his father would yell at him for things he let Zoe get away with, but he could not remember those very well. Now, when he panicked he usually just lashed out.

"Are you feeling any better?" He asked in a small voice, unsure what else to do. He wanted to help this guy as much as he could; he wanted to be a friend.

Evan went to shrug and then kind of smiled a small, sad smile and nodded instead.

Connor didn't believe him, but there was no time to ask anything else. The blonde lady was taking her stand in the middle of the room. Her shoulders were pushed back and her head was held high. It must be easy to have that kind of confidence in a pretty red work-appropriate dress - especially in a plethora of mentally ill patients who are all wearing the same blue scrubs.

"Hello, guys. My name is Carol and today I'm gonna talk to you about coping mechanisms..."

Carol began to go on and on about coping mechanisms and what they looked like and when to use them. Connor had started to zone out when she asked, "What are some examples that you guys utilize?"

A couple of people rose their hands and said theirs but they weren't exactly stellar advice:  _walk away_ ;  _count to ten_ ;  _go eat and drink something_.

Then, Evan put his hand up. "Um, I like to try to, um. Say-say-say the alphabet... I mean, the alphabet backwards."

Connor had never heard such amazing advice. Granted, it was probably because of who gave it, but he could have written an ode and performed an interpretive dance solely based on how good it was.

Carol nodded. "Uh-huh, that's a very good one, Evan. It gives you something semi-difficult to focus on, but not so difficult that you start to get even more panicked or scared or angry. Sometimes, when it gets like this, it's really hard to see the forest for the trees, isn't it?"

There were soft murmurs all around and Connor started to zone out again.

When group was finally over, the patients shuffled out of the room quietly. According to the board, the next activity that they had was lunch and that was a little ways off.

Passing his piece of art on the table, Connor frowned at it for a moment. It felt like it needed something. As he was contemplating this, he heard Evan being called into an office thing on the left side of the dayroom. A moment later, a nurse called Connor over to the desk.

"You have a call on line one, sweetheart. Says it's your mom. Just pick up any of the phones over there and you should be able to talk." The nurse said kindly, giving Connor a sweet smile.

Striding across the room, the long-haired man picked up the phone and slid into the neighboring chair. "Hello?"

"Oh, Connor!" Cynthia was openly sobbing into the receiver, breathing hard. "Are you doing okay there? Are they nice to you? Have you been eating?"

Connor nodded, trying, and failing, not to get emotional himself. He had always felt like his mother was overbearing and expected more than he could give, but right now he'd never been so happy to hear her voice. "I-I'm okay. They're nice. I haven't seen a doctor yet, but..."

There was a long moment where both of them were kind of crying a little bit. In the silence, Connor could hear Margot and a nurse bickering. The former was getting furious.

When she finally got her voice back, Cynthia asked, "Is it really as nice as they say, Con?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I was on hold, the recorded message kept saying that it was a 'resort-like getaway.'"

Connor took a moment, listening to Margot screaming and knocking chairs around. He thought for another half a minute before murmuring, "Something like that."


	10. Forest for the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in ages! Something had to give for me to survive life, and sadly my fics and my Gender in Pop Culture Class (which is one where you go at your own pace, so it wasn't exactly a huge deal) had to be put on the shelf for things with less permeable due dates. It's spring break for me, though, and so I've decided to try and catch up!
> 
> Also, two of the names in this piece are a reference to another musical (one that I was obsessed with in high school and still might write a fic for now, despite its small fandom). It's a little older, so I guess I wanna see how many "youngsters" know about it. I would tell you how old, but that would possibly give it away more than I fear I already have! If you get in right in the comments or send it to me via a message of some sort, I will write you a fic or your choice. Or maybe a list of headcanons or I'll like send you a bouquet or something. Whatever works. 
> 
> Basically, this is me being granny-Bri, sitting on my porch in a rocker and being like, "In my day, we didn't have no 'Ever Handsome' or 'Bee Moore Hill.' We had musicals that violent ripped your heart out and shoved them right back in crooked. We had no closure! Musicals didn't give us no closure back then! You children don't know what heartbreak is."
> 
> Btw, I don't think that Ever Handsome- er, Evan Hansen is not heartbreaking, but the musicals that I'm directly thinking of didn't feel (to me) as if they gave us as much closure as this one did.
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy and I hope you guys have a lovely week/few days, depending on if I want to update early again to catch up!

The seat underneath Evan was hard and yet again, he desperately wanted out of a situation.

"Hello, Evan. I'm Reyna Madden and I'm going to be your social worker for the time you spend here. If you have any questions or need help finding resources for when you're released, I'm your girl. Just come and talk to me anytime!" Reyna was wearing nice clothes, just like the lady in the TV room earlier. She had shoulder-length auburn hair and black glasses. For some reason, this made Evan uneasy, and he picked at the stupid baggy blue scrubs he had on. At least the nurses had on scrubs, too, and weren't so obvious about their position of power.

Instead of addressing his discomfort, Evan merely looked down at his hands.

Next to him at a desk was a woman in her fifties. Her black-and-gray hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and she was dressed in a long ruffled brown skirt and a matching cream top. Around her shoulders, she had a green jacket.

She made him feel safer. Maybe it was because her outfit was like that of one of his favorite teachers; perhaps it was because she didn't seem so blatantly fake. How knew? Whatever it was, he was glad that he was sitting closer to her than the social worker.

"Hello," the desk lady said, turning to him. "I'm Dr. Goodman. I'm the psychiatrist here and we'll just be gathering a little information from you. I know that you took a tremendous amount of time last night answering one of our staff member's questions, but I'm afraid we have to ask some more. It won't be the same, though. We'll be asking you to go into more detail, okay?"

Evan nodded hesitantly.

Dr. Goodman took this as her cue to begin. "Alright. Can you tell me why you're here?"

Evan refused to make eye contact and instead stared at the place where the wall and carpet met. "Because I wanted to die."

"Can you tell me what made you feel that way?"

"No. I just... I just wanted to disappear and I knew that I'd do something to make that happen if I didn't tell someone and so I told my mom. And then Mom told my doctor and then they both talked to me and then I was taken to the ER and then here." He let the words just tumble out of his mouth, wanting to get this done as soon as physically possible.

"And what did you think about coming to get help like this?" Dr. Goodman asked, scribbling notes rapidly. A few feet away, Ms. Madden was, too.

"I dunno. I just kind of felt numb, like I'm starting to now. Resigned, maybe."

"Okay. It says here that you have anxiety and that you're proscribed Buspar for it?" Dr. Goodman pointed to the screen of her computer.

"Mhm."

"We're going to up that and add an antidepressant to that as well. Have you ever been on a mood stabilizer?"

Evan shook his head.

"Okay, well we're going to add that, too. How are you sleeping? Staying up a lot at night when you don't want to?"

"Not too much, no."

Dr. Goodman nodded. "Okay. Okay, great. Any trauma?"

Evan blinked. "Like-like what?"

"Sexual assault, physical assault, abuse -emotional or physical - neglect..."

Evan went to shake his head but then stopped. "I mean. My dad wasn't a nice man, I guess. I - um. I don't remember because I was pretty young, but. I guess he used to yell at me a lot? Mom said he would also act like nothing I did - or that she did - was good enough or important. He'd - um - mock me and stuff."

Dr. Goodman gave a small hmm sound. "Is your father still around?"

Evan took a long moment, breathing in and then out. "No. He-um- he l-l-left when I was six years old."

"And it's just you and your mom?"

"Yeah. She works really hard and is taking night class. Even though she's really busy, she is - she is - she is a good mom." Evan squeezed his eyes shut. The small room was getting a little hot and he kind of wanted to lay down.

"We're almost done, then you can go and do whatever you want, okay?"

Without opening his eyes, Evan just made a small noise to confirm.

"You're okay, sweetheart," he heard Ms. Madden say. "Do you need some ice water?"

Evan made the same noise as before. Although he didn't exactly trust her or her almost-fake chipper attitude, he decided if she was offering help, he would take it.

He heard her leave and opened his eyes a bit when the woman came back with the cup. A few moments later, Evan almost had the water drained and was crunching on ice cubes. They were weird and almost soft. He hadn't every had this kind before and wondered if ice was like this at every hospital.

"Feeling any better?" Dr. Gooden asked.

Evan nodded, noticing that his cheeks didn't feel quite so hot anymore.

"Okay. We're nearly done, alright? I just need to let you know what's going on with your meds. We've upped your buspar.  I'm also going to add sertraline for depression and lamictal as a mood stabilizer. They should give those to you tonight. I also added garden privileges so they you can go outside when the weather isn't bad. It can be a really calming place."

Evan started to shift towards the edge of his seat, impatient to be out of the room. He eyed her as if asking permission to leave.

"Go ahead," the doctor said. "We'll talk again tomorrow, okay?"

Evan nodded, hurrying to get back into the day room. It was much cooler out there and he took a moment, heading to the window. Outside was a huge garden that was still vibrant in the early October sunlight. He'd be allowed to go out there soon. There was a huge fence at the edge of the lawn and it seemed to overlook another wing of the hospital.

After staring at the flowers and the trees in the distance, he finally turned and started to head over to the phone. He planned on calling his mother and making sure that she was okay. However, as he passed one of the tables, he noticed Connor's drawing. It was different now; written on the bottom in beautiful cursive, someone had added, _Can't see the forest for the trees_.


	11. The C Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Decided to post yet another chapter because I feel bad for all of those Wednesdays that I've missed! I do plan on posting one again on Wednesday, so be on the lookout for that! I don't remember if I mentioned this in the previous chapter, but if I can't post on time or something's come up, I'll go back to the previous chapter's note and update below it. That way you guys are in the loop and I don't just abandon you for weeks on end after posting some concerning stuff in the author's note. By the way, I am perfectly fine and healthy and (hopefully) on the road to mental stability, so don't worry about me!
> 
> Okay! So I know the last chapter was not very interesting because it was mostly Evan being questioned about his mental illness(es) and then being prescribed meds. This one I tried to give more flavor because A. I knew I was writing and editing this in a short period of time versus an entire week so I had to keep myself motivated and it's hard to write something good if you don't make it something you enjoy; B. I know that you guys probably want some more tree bros after the hiatus that I put you guys through. Also, if this wasn't edited very well, I'm so sorry. It'd getting really late and my eyes are very tired, haha. So! Please enjoy this chapter and I hope you guys have a wonderful (almost) week until the next one!

By the time that Evan had gotten out of the office and over to the window, Connor had moved to the media room. Talking on the phone was only allowed for ten minutes.

Resting his feet on another chair thet he'd pulled around, Connor tilted his head back against the window and let out a small sigh. The only way that he could tell what was on the television was by listening; the screen was still impossible to see because of the sunshine.

"Not my daughter, you  _bitch_!" Connor heard Mrs. Weasley yell from the speakers. He opened one eye, peeking at the screen. There wasn't much to see; he could only make out flashes of red and green.

Deciding that even pretending to look at the screen was absolutely futile, Connor turned to look out the window. Margot was sitting on one of the benches, staring off at something that he couldn't see. His chest swelled with a little anger. Knowing that he couldn't go outside but others could made this place feel even more sufficating. Furthermore (and he knew he shouldn't think this, but he couldn't help it), she was crazier than he was. Why could she go out and he couldn't?

Connor stood up to go and question this injustice when he stopped short. Evan was standing ten feet from the media room, staring intently out at the flowers outside. For some reason, the way he was standing and the look on his face made the tall man feel impossibly sad. He backed up and then went back to listening to  _Harry Potter._ Something told him not to interrupt. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back again.

He only opened them when he heard heels clicking across the floor. Connor was a little confused; who wore  _heels_ to work at a hospital? Not only that, but who wore them specifically to work on a ward where suicidal and possibly homicidal patients were? It just seemed too easy for someone to pull off her shoe and use it as a weapon.

Upon further inspection, Connor realized that the high-heeled woman was coming over to him. She was a redhead, and she had a smile that was a little bit forced. He immediately disliked her and considered grabbing one of her heeled boots himself. Still, there remained the question of who to use it on - her, or himself?

"You must be Connor!" The woman chirped as she got closer. She could have easily been a human-sized cardinal. "I'm Mrs. Madden, and I'm going to be your social worker for your stay here. Why don't you follow me to this office over here?"

Mrs. Madden could have easily been one of those overly-nice villains in horror movies - the ones that everyone says, "They can't be the bad guy! No way that sweet stay-at-home mom hacked all those people to death! She didn't have the heart to even - oh my god, why is she coming out with a butcher knife?"

Maybe he was being too hard on this woman, but Connor just instinctively didn't trust her.

"So, how have you been here so far? Doing good? Sleeping well?" Mrs. Madden asked.

Connor shrugged. "As well as someone  _can_ on a psych ward with other crazy people."

"Oh!" Mrs. Madden acted as if he had just dropped the biggest, nastiest cuss word there was. "We don't use that word here."

"Psych ward?"

"No, no, sweetie. The c word."

"Cunt? I didn't even say that one!" At this point, he knew what she meant, but stringing her along was just so much more fun.

Mrs. Madden looked close to pulling off her own heel and using it on Connor now. "No," she hissed, "' _crazy_ '."

"Oh," Connor said, just a little louder now, " _crazy_. I'll make sure not to use the word 'crazy' again."

Mrs. Madden's lips were pressed together so hard that they had become a thin, white line. She was also giving him that look that his mother did when they were in public and couldn't scold him properly. Or, at least the look she'd given him when he was much younger. Now she just looked at him sadly, like she was wondering what would make him fly off the handle and what wouldn't.

It seemed like he was not going to get a response, so Connor just decided not to push it. Going too far often took the fun out of these kinds of things.

As they neared the door, a song that he vaguely recognized came on over the loud speakers. That confused him; he was sure that the benefits of music on mental health were countless, but Connor couldn't figure out  _where_ the music was from. Yes, he knew that it was coming out of the speakers above his head, but he didn't know if it was from a radio station or hand picked by the hospital or  _what_. There never seemed to be any DJ or commercials. It was just weird.

It occurred to him that he might be deflecting or focusing on something else to ease the discomfort of something he didn't want to do, but he didn't care. Pushing that all away, he took a deep breath and followed Mrs. Madden into the office.

* * *

Connor had no idea, but his experience with the two ladies was extraordinarily close to Evan's. No, he didn't have the same urge or panic to get out - certainly not enough to manifest physical symptoms, like the overheating; nor did he get prescribed exactly the same medicine (he got lithium and wellbutrin instead of sertaline, the anxiety medicine was set at a lower dose, and he was given trazadone for sleep) but all in all, they asked the same types of questions and he'd also been granted garden privileges.

Personally, Connor kind of thought of the meeting as some big waste. He knew that he was here to get help to not want to do what he did again, but it wasn't easy to open up to two ladies you've only known a couple of minutes.

As he stepped out into the day room again, he was pleased to see that lunch was here. He wasn't exactly  _hungry_ , but at least that would give him some kind of a distraction. Hey, maybe he would have ordered something good the night before, even. He couldn't remember what he had chosen, but it had to be better than the food at the ER.

It was, actually - but only just. The food that Connor had picked ended up being a hamburger and fries with macaroni and cheese. It didn't look bad, really, and he placed it onto the table that Evan was sitting at.

Upon returning, Connor had a wrapped up bundle of  _actual_  silverware in his hands. Evan had one, too, although he didn't seem to have anything that wasn't finger food.

As if noticing the other's confusion, Evan shrugged. "They made me take it. They said otherwise, if I put my tray up without any, they'll think I stole it."

He sounded considerably more comfortable talking to Connor now.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to give us plastic silverware?" Connor asked.

"Bad for the environment, I guess. I mean, it definitely  _is_ bad for my - I mean  _the_  - environment, but I guess that's why they went this route."

"Yeah, but couldn't someone poke someone's eye out with a fork or something, even under supervision?"

Evan shrugged, picking over his food for a minute before settling on uncapping one of his drinks. It looked like Sprite.

Connor made a face. "I can't drink that stuff. If I ever caught a stomach bug or something, that's  _all_ my mom would let me drink. Kind of turned me off of the taste."

"That happened to me with Ginger Ale. Can't even smell the original kind anymore."

"There's other kinds?"

"Yeah! My mom found some blackberry flavored kind a while back. It was pretty good."

"Huh," Connor mumbled. "Learn something new every day."

Evan just nodded and they went back to picking at their food in silence.

Finally, Connor broke the silence again.

"You know, this  _looked_ really good at first glance but now I don't think I want any of it. It's like those ads of McDonald's food versus the actual thing."

The long-haired man had taken a few bites of everything and realized that none of the food was worth it. Instead, he downed the drinks and then went to turn in his tray. He noticed the blond nurse checking how much he'd eaten and writing it down. What a food spy.

After putting his tray in the giant metal box, Connor nabbed his silverware and turned it back in to the desk. They unwrapped it from his napkin, counted to make sure it was all there, and then put it into what he could only assume was the special silverware tub.

While Connor wanted to spend more time with Evan, he was growing tired. He went over to the table where his drawing and notebook where and retrieved them before heading back to the table where he'd eaten. Upon arriving, he sat his things down on the table while he said goodbye.

However, Evan beat him to it. Just as Connor began to say something about going to his room, the blond said something completely different.

"I'm going to-"

"I like you-"

Both boys cut off, clearing their throats. Connor held his right arm with his left hand, digging his nails into the skin.

"You first," Evan said.

"No, really, you," Connor insisted.

"Really, I mean you started it first and I didn't mean to interrupt so you should go first."

"I would, but mine's kind of a parting ways thing and I want to hear what you have to say first."

Evan swallowed hard and nodded, fixing his eyes on the piece of art in front of his tray. "I really like your drawing. It just has some really nice colors? And those tree trunks look very realistic - and I've seen  _lots_   _and_   _lots_  of trunks, believe me. So, yeah. I just wanted to say that I liked it and it's good and you're a talented person? Okay, I'm going to stop now."

Connor gave a small smile. "If you like it so much, you can have it. I can't help but see the faults in it, and it probably deserves someone who'll give it love. Here."

"Thank you!" Evan's face lit up, and his eyes took in the piece once more. Finally, he peeled his eyes away to look up at Connor again. "What were you going to say, again?"

The taller boy shrugged, picking up his notebook again. "Just that I was going to go back to my room and sleep or something. I'll see you later, okay?"

Evan nodded, giving him a beaming smile. No one had looked at Connor like that in a long while. "Okay! Rest well. Thank you again!"

Unable to find the words to say, Connor just gave him a small smile headed back and towards his room. Halfway down his hall, he turned back to find Evan still admiring his drawing.


	12. Evan in the Garden by Himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! It might seem like I'm bringing Margot and her food thing in too much, but I swear that she did this every meal. Holy fuck it was a lot, and it makes me wonder now if she had ever gone without food for long periods of time. Maybe that was where this anxiety came from. I don't know dude, it was just wild. The only way that my second hospitalization was better than my first (subsequently, the facility-minus the food-really was a "resort-like." For those of you who don't end up reading my Shameless fic, I'll explain how different this two places were.
> 
> Also, I want to quickly thank all you guys for being incredibly supportive of both my mental health and my writing. Turns out I'm going to be published in a lit journal sometime soon, so I'll let you guys know more about that as it develops!
> 
> Okay, so, the differences between the Center of Hope and Memorial Hospital. For simplicity's sake, we'll call the first - the one in this fic - CH. The one in Man of the House, we'll just call M. In M, I was on suicide watch for the first night. After that shit (honestly, one of the worst nights I've endured), I immediately went, "No, no, no, I don't want to hurt myself every again. Please give me a normal room and a normal gown please." The reason I was begging this was because I was stuck in this awful, plastic-y gown that had three sleeves. You put your right arm through two of the sleeves so that you didn't need strings. When I did all the paperwork (aided by a very pregnant nurse who I used to know in high school) and they eventually let me go to bed, it was not in a normal room. Instead of it being down the hall in the rooms that were almost normal, I went into this darkened hallway. There was a bathroom that looked like it would have been in a scary, abandoned hospital and I didn't know if I was allowed to turn on the lights in there. Back in the room that they gave me to sleep in, I wasn't allowed to turn off the lights - wasn't even able. There was no pillow on the bed and only one blanket. I vaguely remember a window, but I may have imagined it. Let me reiterate: the lights never went off, I had one thin-ass blanket, and I was alone in this waxy, papery gown. CH was sounding pretty fucking good that night. Even when one girl was on suicide watch in the first hospital, all they did was only give her one blanket. She got to keep the pillow and turn out the lights.
> 
> Let's briefly go over the things that M didn't have (in comparison to CH specifically): friendly staff, THERAPY, outside rec, things to occupy our time, sleeping aids, books, and controlled calls. I say this last one specifically because it is so vital to patient's privacy. At CH, all calls went through the nurse station and there was a pin number they had to know to be able to talk to you. At M? The patient phone was supposed to be picked up and handed off by the patients. That means if you don't want someone knowing that you're there or you're there to get away from them, they can easily find out where you are. Someone could just call and be like, "Hey, is [insert your name here] there?" And then it's handed off to you and boom, your ex or employer or whoever knows where you are and can come visit. Not cool, Jimmy-Steve - er, Memorial Hospital. (Sorry, Shameless reference.)
> 
> The other important component to consider is the lack of therapy. At M, we had no helpful therapy. We had "rec therapy" that consisted of bowling with a foam ball, playing a life skills board game, visits from therapy animals (one visit that I slept through the morning after the suicide room and I was pissed) and us getting to play music videos via Youtube. That's it. That's all the "therapy" we had. They just stuck us on meds and let us drift around and sleep and watch TV. I don't think we watched anything but Friends and the Hallmark channel (because this was a couple weeks before Christmas). I didn't feel much better when I left.
> 
> So! If this seems like an easy depiction of being hospitalized (sans the place they were initially admitted because that shit was scary), that's because it is. I really hope that people don't think that I'm glorifying mental illness or hospitalization in any way! My first go around was just pure luck. I had no idea how good I had it, and I guess that's why I felt like sharing the above. I don't want anyone to think that I am saying, "Lol, this shit is easy and you can meet your signif there, lolololol" because I'm not. I also plan on showing how incredibly destructive relationships/friendships from the hospital can be, so be on the lookout for that.
> 
> EDIT: I'm sorry that I haven't been posting lately! I will be writing again after finals--so in a couple weeks! I will also be posting more updates on some social media sites:  
> IG: Bribbleisfreeble  
> Twitter: Bribbleisfreebl  
> Tumblr: Bribbleisfreeble  
> Thanks! I'll update here, too! -BIF 4/15/18

When Connor left, Evan sat at the table picking at his food. Although he had been able to shove the disgusting chicken from the night before down his throat in an almost robotic fashion, he couldn't do that with this food. Even though there was nothing visually wrong with it, the taste was just off and he pushed it away.

Gripping the sides of the tray tightly, he stood and started take it up to the silver box. He only stopped at the sound of his own name.

"Evan!" One of the nurses yelled. He jumped so badly that food almost went everywhere. "Bring your tray over here first."

On shaking legs, the blond did what he was told and wobbled towards the semi-circular desk. Obediently, the tray of barely touched food was placed on the desk. While the nurse scrutinized how much he had eaten, Evan took the time to turn in his silverware. Connor was right; why have actual silverware when they weren't even allowed pencils?

The nurse scribbled something down in her notes and frowned. "Sweetheart, don't you want to eat just a  _little_  bit more? You only ate maybe ten percent of your food."

Evan shook his head, bit his lip, and then looked at his feet. "I-I don't want to. But, um, th-th-thanks for c-caring enough to a-ask."

With that, he picked up the tray, placed it with the other dirty ones, and turned to walk away. He only paused when he heard screaming. Margot was at the tray box again, trying to take food. A nurse, the nice one, was trying to coax her away.

"Come on, Margot," Nurse Sarah murmured in a gentle voice. She had been acting kind of annoyed and exhausted by the much larger woman prior to this, but now she seemed cheerful and excited. She reminded Evan of a dog owner who was trying to call their dog back from somewhere dangerous. "Let's go into the library or go and color, okay?"

Margot didn't look like she trusted Nurse Sarah very much, and Evan didn't quite blame her. He wasn't the most observant person sometimes, but even he could see that the blonde's sudden interest in the other had nothing to do with an attempt at bonding.

The older woman looked at the tray, looked back at the nurse, and then stuffed as much food she could in her hands and ran into the media room. She tried her best to shut the sliding doors behind her, but that seemed to prove more difficult than anticipated. She gave up and sat in one of the chairs to the side.

Nurse Sarah was now running across the day room, calling, "Margot, don't eat that! Don't you dare eat that! That has been on other people's trays and you don't know if they've been sick or did something gross with that food! You can't eat that!"

By the time she got to the doors and slid them back open with a loud  _crack_ , Margot was already shoving a handful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. She looked smug, like a defiant child. Nurse Sarah groaned softly, rubbing her forehead for a moment before going for the roll in the patient's hand.

When the roll was reached for, Margot recoiled quickly, rearing her head back and spitting some of the mashed potatoes at the blonde. Startled, the medical professional took several steps back before looking at the clumps on her shirt. By the time that she looked back up at the older woman, the brunette had shoved the roll into her mouth, too.

Nurse Sarah stood there for a long moment. She looked like she wanted to cry but couldn't. Finally, she turned back to Margot, looked at the nurses' station, and walked away.

Evan watched, frozen by the door to go out into the garden. It seemed like nurses were bustling around, trying to get the day on as usual. They were probably trying to keep Margot from feeling as if she had won and was getting attention for it.

Suddenly, Kev - the nurse from the night before - strode over, smiling tightly. He clearly wasn't upset at him, but Evan felt nervous anyway. "Hey, bud. Did you want to go outside or something?"

"I want to go outside!" Margot yelled and Kev glanced over at her. He gave a small shake of his head and turned back to the patient at hand.

He must have seen the anxiety in Evan's eyes at the prospect of being caught outside with Margot - it had already happened once before, and he wasn't keen on it happening again - and the older man whispered. "Don't worry. She won't bother you, she probably needs to go talk to Doctor Goodman soon, anyway. She's not a bad person, she just really needs to learn boundaries and get some more help. Somtimes, she can get a little loud and can sometimes corner quiet patients like you without even knowing that she's doing it."

Evan nodded slowly. He supposed that made sense. "Oh. Um, t-thank you," he said quietly.

When the nurse opened the door for him, the blond took with him Connor's drawing and one of the books that he had picked out previously. It felt incredible to step out into the warm fall breeze. It was only the beginning of October and the weather was perfect. The trees were beginning to turn and all of this made Evan kind of happy in a way he could not quite describe. The smell of fresh air washed over him and he felt a little more human.

Maybe that was what the happiness was: natural reminding him that he was not just another body suffering in there. That feeling was fantastic.

Taking a seat on a bench, Evan studied the garden. It was approximately thirty square feet, surrounded on three sides by the building. On the other side was a tall fence. It was at the edge of a hill and was looking down on another wing of the hospital. Metal picnic tables lined the edges of the tall, metal monstrosity and there were more benches scattered around the grassy space. In the middle of garden were huge flower boxes filled with chrysanthemums and tomatoes and some other plants that Evan couldn't name right off the bat.

Taking the picture, he stuck it in the back of the book very carefully and started reading. At some point, Evan must have fallen asleep because when his eyes opened again the door had just slammed shut.

Connor rounded the corner, squatting a little in front of Evan. He didn't exactly look happy or well-rested, but something about him did seem a bit better. Raising one eyebrow, he deadpanned, "So, tree boy. Are you going to tell me about those over there?"


	13. Tell Me About the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, guys! I'm so sorry that I haven't been posting! This chapter literally has taken me a month just because I have been so burnt out. However, yes I am alive! Otherwise, I have been doing really well! I'm beginning to even out and soon I'm going to be moving back out of my parents' house and into the city for college again. I can't wait; I've missed all of my friends there! Also, I'm taking some summer classes and that is sucking me of life. Please ignore any and all mistakes because I am just crazy busy and wanted to make sure I posted it asap! Thanks for the patience and please enjoy!

Connor raised an eyebrow at Evan, giving him a small smile. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so enthusiastic about talking to someone. "Tell me about the trees?"

Evan bit his lip, looking up. It was clear that he'd just awakened, his eyes blurry and hair a mess.

"Trees?" He repeated dimly. "Wh-what trees?"

The blond's face was all scrunched up in confusion and Connor's heart did a sommersalt. The man just looked so fucking cute.

Connor waved all around them. "The ones in this garden and down the hill. The ones through our bedroom windows. All of them!"

"I don't think we're allowed in each other's rooms," Evan mumbled. "And besides, don't you think tree are boring?"

Connor shook his jead solumnly. "Not if you're the one talking about them. Some old british documentorary narator? I'll pass. With you it's more personal."

"How do you even know that?" Evan countered. "We just met."

"Well, you're the only one in here who doesn't want to make me kill myself - again." He glanced at his arms. "Okay, well, not again but you get what I mean."

"You're... awfully cheerful for someone who just tried to die a while ago." Evan mumbled.

Connor shrugged. "I'm just happy to be alive."

"Are you?"

Connor looked away and then turned back. "Stop stalling, Evan. tell me about those trees."

"You're the one who's deflecting right now," Evan pointed out. His voice was a little harsher than he had intended and he clamped his hand around his mouth. it was as if he was trying to stop more harsh words from tumbling out. "Sorry. Oh, my god. I am so, so sorry."

Connor looked up. "Sorry for what, exactly? You weren't wrong. So, tell me about these trees. What's your favorite?"

It was weird. Connor wasn't cured. It did not merely take making a friend to poof his mental illness away. However, he was feeling less alone, and that was a start.

"My favorite tree?" Evan repeated softly, blinking a little bit. No one had asked about something like this with him before. They had never actually stopped to ask him about his interests--at least, not in a nonthreatening way.

Connor nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. Your favorite tree."

Evan seemed to be thinking. "Well, I really like dragon trees."

Connor rose his brows. "Dragon trees? you mean like Dragonborn?"

Evan stopped. "Huh?"

"Nevermind. Tell me more?"

Evan slowly started to smile. "I guess I do have a lot of facts I can teach you about trees. Let me think of some good ones."

And with that, both boys began to discuss trees and forests, both becoming more and more comfortable as time went on.


End file.
